The Truth About War
by I Am Sweden
Summary: Beaten down by the Depression, America hesitates to join the war in Europe. But once Hawaii is attacked, will he feel the same? Meanwhile, Italy is faced with a decision that could make or break him and all he holds dear. Dark!Hetalia.
1. Chapter 1

**The beginning of this fan fiction is historically true, but later on it drifts into my own little world. So be warned that this won't help you on that history test when school starts back. I'm contemplating whether or not I'll continue this, but for now it's just a super long one-shot about America joining the war and Italy's doubts. **

**WARNING: Russia is a creeper. China and Japan have bad accents. And France gets his butt kicked- bad.**

**Please review!**

**The Truth About War**

_November 1941- at America's house_

"Dad, I'm starving," Connecticut finally said at last. He lifted his pale blue eyes to meet his father's at the end of the bare table. The forty-eight states and Hawaii, a child America was planning to adopt as soon as he got the country back on its feet, shifted uncomfortably. America dropped his head on his arms. Virginia reached out to pat him on the shoulder, but when her stomach growled as well, she silently drew her hand back.

After taking a deep breath, America raised his head. "I'm sorry, guys. I… I wish we didn't have to ration like this. I'm hungry too, and…." When his broke, he buried his face in his hands again.

New York stood up, his deep blue eyes brimming with tears. "This is my fault!" he burst. "I let the stock market crash, and now everyone's hurting!"

"It's not your fault," Virginia said quietly, casting a worried glance at America. It only hurt him more to hear New York speak like that, she knew. "Sit down, New York. Nebraska, how has corn production coming along?"

Nebraska blinked in surprise, then smiled. "Kansas and I've been working hard this year, and things are looking good, so I hope we can start up sales soon."

"No one has money for food," America bitterly sighed, cutting off Virginia's attempt to lighten the dismal mood. "Keep working, okay? New York, how are things up there?"

The dark haired boy frowned. "Not as well as I hoped. But we have opened soup kitchens. Pennsylvania and Rhode Island came up with it, and so far it's seeming to work well."

"We opened soup kitchens too," Michigan quietly said. He sighed and ran a hand through his pale hair. "This has put such a damper on car sales- and right when I had just come up with a brand new model."

Texas rolled his eyes. "A bunch o' death traps. Horses are better!"

"_Guys_," Delaware interjected before they could get into another transportation argument. The second oldest turned back to America. "I've been thinking, Dad, that if we get involved in the war in Europe, maybe we could start more jobs."

"But wouldn't we only use more money to boost the army?" America asked blandly.

"Yes, but-"

"We can do just fine on our own, Delaware. In case you don't remember, it was the first war in Europe that got us in this mess!" Alabama hotly snapped, narrowing her eyes at her brother. Delaware rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Don't roll your eyes at me!"

"Stop arguing with me, then! Just think! We could open factories to build planes and ships…."

The Carolina twins perked up at that. Delaware continued, turning to Pennsylvania, Ohio, and Michigan. "You three can open up your factories again and start productions right away. New York, Massachusetts, Vermont, and New Hampshire could work together on fixing up the stock market, and the rest of us would bump up crop production! We'd be on our feet in no time."

"I don't wike stinky corn. I wike hamburgers!"

Everyone in the room turned to Hawaii, smiling bright. Her smile missed a few teeth here and there, but it was as wide as the toddler could manage. She stood up in her chair to see everyone better. "I grow pineapples and sweet sugar! Dey're much better dan corn!"

America quirked a smile at her. "How about I treat you and everyone else to a hamburger once we're rich again?"

Hawaii's eyes lit up. She punched the air. "Yay, hamburgers!"

The states shared her grin and echoed her proud cry. "Hamburgers!"

Virginia, smiling, looked outside at the snow quietly falling around the White House. They were poor, they were hungry, but they were a family. The smile dropped off her face when Uncle Britain filled her mind. _He's family too. And Uncle France, and Uncle Canada…. They're all fighting, despite the depression. I hope they're okay…._

((((()))))

Once the states had left for home (California had taken Hawaii back to her islands), America sat back in his favorite swivel chair and spun around a bit. He was more than just hungry- he felt so tired, like an old man. His back hurt, his eyes stung- he was just _miserable_. Even spinning around like a maniac didn't seem as fun as it used to be. He needed to be in Europe fighting alongside Britain, to be a hero.

But he couldn't just leave his kids in the mess he'd caused. Being a hero to them counted more than being a hero just for show. Despite arguing amongst themselves, America knew those kids would fight to the bitter end for their dreams. They proved that in 1861 when Confederacy popped out of nowhere and brainwashed half of them.

America grimaced, thinking back to that slick man in his fancy suit with Virginia standing proud at his side- _Stupid Confederacy! Do not flirt with my daughter!_

America would never know what Virginia saw in that phony. If she hadn't fallen for the jerk, her siblings in the south wouldn't have wanted her to start a country with him and let them in on it. Of course, Delaware, ever the hero like his father, did not approve at all and convinced the northern states to declare war on the south.

"Snap out of it," he grimly told himself before the horrific images of his children battered and bloody came to mind. "I was thinking about those dopes in Europe!"

_Back to Europe- Germany, Italy, and Japan are the ones making such a fuss, aren't they. Geez. Didn't Germany get his butt kicked _last _war?_

Italy and Japan for allies, though? That blew America's mind. He wondered how in the world someone like Germany could stand someone like Italy- practically his opposite. Japan had stayed silent over in the east for years. What was he doing, helping start a war?

A knock at the door interrupted his train of thought once again. "Come on in!" he called, expecting Delaware come to try and convince of war again. Instead, it was just his secretary. "What's up?" he asked, trying to sound peppy. She didn't answer right away- something was wrong.

"You have a call from Britain, Mr. America. He said it was urgent."

"Speak of the devil," he muttered, breaking into a run towards the phone. "Hello? Britain?"

The person on the other line harshly coughed before answering with a craggy voice. "America? What are you still doing over there?"

America sighed. He suddenly hoped he hadn't just told Britain how awful things were on his side of the Atlantic. Of course, just his luck, Britain did notice. "America, please tell me you aren't planning on staying over there in a condition like yours!"

"Stop being such a worrywart! Geez, so I'm a little pressed for money- no big deal."

"_No big deal?_" Britain burst. America knew he was throwing his hands up in exasperation, readying to enter "lecture" mode. However, before he could, America interrupted him with an apologetic sigh.

"It is a big deal. I know, alright? The kids are keeping strong, but…."

Britain also sighed. "I'm sorry to ask this of you while you've got problems of your own, but we need your help, America. Japan has conquered half of China and Germany and Italy are doing the same to East Europe. That bearded fool France got himself admitted into the hospital yesterday after an attack from Germany."

_Just as earnest as Delaware on this whole war business…. _"I can't. If I get involved, it'll just be more trouble on the kids. But how about I hand you off some cannons and stuff for a little cash? If you can't manage that, you can just pay me back later."

"America… how bad is the depression there?"

He was silent for a moment, making sure that his voice would stay strong. The last thing he wanted to do was break down in front of Britain. "Enough that Connecticut told me he was honest-to-gosh starving today."

Now Britain was rubbing his forehead, entering "worried-older-brother" mode. "Everyone over here is like that, America. We're all hungry, we're all terrified and we're all waiting on a hero."

"Don't play that card on me!" America yelled, finally snapping. "I'm staying neutral in this! I'm not going to lure Germany over here! I will not do that to my kids! You convinced me the first time to help you guys, and look where it's brought us! We're starving to death in the shadow of our trade market, hunting high and low for food and a place to sleep because the banks have stolen our houses to try and pay everyone else back first! You got yourselves into this- get yourselves out of it!"

"America!" Britain pleaded, his pride giving way to desperation. "Please! We can't win unless you come and help us! Germany will enslave us all- he's murdering thousands everyday! We can't keep this up very much longer without you!"

"What am I going to do?" he coldly demanded. "I'm the stupid American, the rebellious little brother who knows nothing about anything but himself. You say so yourself!"

"Daddy?" a new, frightened voice echoed from the empty room. America turned in shame to see Maryland, Virginia, and Delaware.

"I have to go. I'll discuss this with you later, Britain."

He was silent. The line went dead on Britain's side first. The instant he put the phone up, Maryland ran up to him and threw her arms around his neck. Tears filled with dozens of fears and worries soaked the side of his jacket. America pulled Virginia and Delaware into the embrace as well.

The hug almost reminded him of his days as Britain's colony. He, Britain, France, and Canada were always together, holding strong and supporting each other.

America wanted the best for his kids. If that meant war, he would go to Europe. But right now, standing in the hall of a darkened, dismal White House weeping with his kids… that was okay too, he figured.

"I love you, Daddy," Maryland mumbled into his shoulder.

"I love you too," he whispered.

((((()))))

_December 1941- on the battlefield_

Italy stared out at the countryside before him. The vast land seemed to stretch on forever- and so did the bodies. Bile rose up in his throat, seeing the hundreds of fallen soldiers staining the beautiful French land. _Big brother's land has become a graveyard…,_ Italy dismally thought, reaching for his rosary beads in his pocket. Germany hadn't seen the point in praying over the fallen of their enemy. Italy himself wasn't even sure himself why he did, but it eased his conscious just the tiniest bit.

But he was still on Germany's side. Germany had helped him when his country was facing terrible times after the first world war, had helped him off the dirt and onto his feet again. Germany, who looked so much like….

"Italy, we're moving out," Germany's stern voice called out behind him. Italy whispered a quick prayer, then ran after the troops prepared to journey further into his big brother's land. They had defeated France himself just days before. Until he got better, Britain and an unfamiliar blonde named Canada were protecting the country.

They wouldn't last long, Italy knew. Then again, France and Britain were allied with Russia and China, two very large and very powerful countries in the east. In that sense, their troops were surrounded by the opposing forces on two sides. Russia was a mighty force to be reckoned with. Italy remembered the terrifying tales of Russia's conquests and General Winter that Austria had told him as a child. Japan had also told them of China, his older brother. He was strong with an infallible will- hard to take down, but not impossible. Japan had already conquered much of his land and was preparing to take on the other Pacific nations.

Japan had told them his plans to seize a small island territory of America's called Hawaii. It would be easy since Hawaii was so small, and would prove to be a good midway point onto America's land when the time to conquer it came. Japan would attack him from the Pacific while Germany and Italy, after defeating Europe, came from the Atlantic.

_Are we doing the right thing…? Taking over so much, destroying so many lives…. I don't like war. I like pasta. And painting. And… and girls. Girls are nice. _

Catching up with Germany at the lead, Italy plastered a smile on his face and tried to start a conversation about the French girls they'd meet in Paris. Germany, as usual, only nodded once then completely zoned him out. _He _would have listened to every word, then would have convinced Italy to do what he believed was right.

Of course, back then, Italy didn't talk about girls and paintings. He told Austria, Hungary, and _him _about his dreams to be a great country like Grandpa Rome had been. Austria would smile sadly and pat him on the head. Hungary would tell him to keep dreaming like that, then return to her work, never truly meaning it. But _him…._

"Are you okay, Italy?" Germany asked, concerned when Italy's smile had faded and his gaze dropped to his muddy boots. Germany didn't believe the fake smile for a second. "We'll find you a cute girl who can make pasta. Don't worry."

Italy grinned. "Germany?"

"Yes?"

"Is it lunch time, yet? I kind of want some pasta now…."

_This must be right. Grandpa Rome had to fight to get to where he was, and so do I._

_But I don't like fighting or killing. I like… I like…. I liked the way it was before- working with Germany and Austria, not being so alone…._

_I want to go home._

((((()))))

"Japan-sama, the fleet is in position."

Japan turned away from the map he'd been studying and nodded. "Hai. We attack in two days. Prepare the troops a fine meal. We have much work to do after tomorrow. I have feeling America will fight back."

The soldier bowed and turned away to find the cook. Japan looked back to his map. America's land was vast and prosperous. He had many different resources on his land and so much history staining the soil. Japan knew better than to underestimate America. He had been a fierce adversary to the forces in Europe during the first world war, and if he joined this war, he would no doubt uphold that reputation.

Hawaii would soon be his. Japan rolled up the map, hearing his troops begin their meal.

_America's land will soon be ours._

((((()))))

"Stop your pacing," France softly chided. "How can I rest with you stomping about?"

"You can rest when I'm gone," Britain quietly countered. But he did stop pacing and sat on the bed beside France's. "Are you feeling better?"

France cocked an eyebrow. "Concern from you? How troubling. That's going to make recovering much harder."

Britain sent him a scowl and put his chin on his palms. France noticed his troubled gaze and quietly guessed, "America isn't coming to our aid?"

He shook his head. All of a sudden, a team of nurses wheeled a new patient in the room. Britain moved out of their way, cringing at the man gasping for breath. In mere minutes, however, the very same nurses pulled a sheet over his face. France closed his eyes, face scrunched in pain. Britain called over one of the nurses and requested he be given more medication.

It wasn't the kind of relief France needed, Britain knew, but it was the next best thing. France kept his eyes closed. For a moment, Britain believed he had fallen asleep again, but he suddenly said, "America just needs time. He won't ignore the call of family. You raised him better than that, Britain."

Britain didn't say anything in return. Instead, he picked up his gun sitting up beside the wall and muttered his goodbye. France's arm trembled when he raised it in farewell, then fell back to his side like a dead weight, his face going pale.

…_I must try again. This cannot go on much longer._

"Nurse, may I use this phone?"

((((()))))

"It'll be for a little while, I promise. Just to see how France is doing, then I'll be right back home," America explained, sure to look at Delaware as he finished. "Virginia and Delaware are in charge. No arguing. Texas?"

The tall boy looked up. "Yeah, Dad?"

"_Please _don't try to build on Mexico's land again. He chews me out and I have to pay him. We don't have that kind of money anymore, so don't help make an enemy, alright?" America said firmly, narrowing his eyes like Britain always did to him. And just like America had always done to Britain after this, Texas gave him a goofy grin.

America chuckled and rose from his seat, forty-nine children instantly rushing up to him for one last goodbye hug before he left. Virginia and Delaware contained them while America left, jogging out to his plane. It had been a birthday present from the Carolina twins a couple years back.

Said twins were also hard at work on gathering up a fleet with Virginia, Delaware, and Georgia, in case America's visit triggered a sudden want to join the war. He was proud of their ingenuity and want to help, but he wasn't planning on joining the war right yet.

For a month, he'd thought things over and come up with a fine plan to help Britain and the others without directly aiding them. America would send them supplies and guns. After the war was over, Britain and the others would send him new ones and cash. If this war got any worse, America would be back on his feet in no time. Once he got to Buckingham, America would propose his plan, give France a quick visit, then rush back home before anything too drastic occurred.

The flight across the Atlantic was peaceful- really, just what America had needed. He took his time arriving at Britain's place, slowly soaking in the thrill of flying again. The ocean water wasn't nearly as blue as the ocean on California's land, but it was beautiful all the same. He had grown up on beaches around this ocean, had crossed it many times to visit Britain. It was near and dear to his heart.

It ended all too soon. The instant America landed on Britain's land, he wanted to turn tail and head back home. The smell of gunpowder and death was overwhelming- almost to the point that he choked on it. There seemed to be a ceasefire- or perhaps the battle had just ended, the winning side being Britain. America pocketed his goggles and jogged into the dying fray. British troops recognized him instantly, standing if they could to salute him. America returned the salute as he ran. The other troops were different. Their accents were foreign and harsh, and they scowled at America as he passed.

"America!"

He skidded to a halt, seeing Britain shove his way over to him. "I knew you'd come, baby brother!"

"Hey hey hey," he complained, peeling off Britain's grateful hug, "keep your dignity, man! Not in front of the guys!"

"We just pushed back the Germans. Canada lured Italy back to his country with an attack on Sicily. Russia was just here a moment ago- ah! There he is," Britain said, dragging America over to a tall man. Russia loomed over the siblings, a strange air about him. But despite his harrowing appearance, Russia smiled when he turned to meet their newest guest. He seemed right at home in the cold weather under his thick, long coat and wrapped in his scarf- both blood spattered. "Russia, this is America, the backup we've been discussing."

"Back-up? Britain, I'm not-"

"Dinner!" an accented voice called out, interrupting them. A short dark haired man banged a pan with his ladel. "Tonight we have Lo Mein!"

A half-hearted joyful cry erupted from the troops. "I don't see France's troops," America suddenly realized. "Are they staying with him?"

"Yes. They and some of Canada's troops are staying with him in case Germany comes back. That was China, by the way, with dinner," Britain introduced, still sure America had come to their rescue. "Where're your troops, America?"

"Back _home_," he emphasized, hoping Britain would just let it drop. "I told you, I just came to discuss the Lend-Lease Act. The Carolina twins have been working on some new stuff."

Britain clenched his jaw. "Well, at any rate, let's head back to Buckingham, shall we? Russia, will you be coming?"

"I want to meet our new guest, America. Of course I will be coming," Russia said pleasantly, completely oblivious to the fact he was spattered in blood. America's eyes widened at this strange man's airy attitude. Russia noticed him staring at his coat and frowned. "Oh… pardon me. I apologize for my unruly appearance. Lithuania!"

A young man popped his head up amongst the throng of soldiers and waded through the sea of camo over to Russia. "Yes, sir?" he asked.

"Could you take this coat to be cleaned? I'll be having dinner with Britain and America this evening."

Lithuania cast them a sidelong, worried glance, but nodded to Russia anyway. He handed off the coat, smiling sweetly at Lithuania. "Have a wonderful meal, Mr. Russia," the brunette muttered, scurrying away.

"My subordinate," Russia explained, the sickeningly sweet smile still plastered on his face. America was really starting to feel the heebie-jeebies radiating from this guy. Britain seemed just as uneasy, but didn't say anything. Russia must have been a good ally to have so much forced respect from Britain.

Britain nodded, not meeting Russia's eyes and started detailing their objectives to America.

((((()))))

"Italy!"

The brunette nearly dropped his rosary beads in surprise when he heard his brother's voice. A bright, honest smile spread out on his face. "Romano!" he cried happily, running to meet him.

Romano put his hands on his hips, demanding to know why _his _half of the land was covered in slaughtered Canadians. Italy's smile faded in an instant, but Romano only shook his head, wryly grinning. "We're getting somewhere, Italy! Now, if we could just chase that stupid wurst-eating Germany out of Europe, we'll be fine!"

While Romano started up a round of violently bad-mouthing Germany again, Italy rolled his eyes and said his farewell. Romano was always a sight to behold, the spitting image of their Grandpa Rome. Italy knew full well he didn't like the fighting either, but who could say no to more power? They were almost there. A few battles more, a few couple thousand deaths, and they'd be as powerful as Grandpa Rome had been. Italy could eat pasta and work on his paintings everyday once they won the war.

But was it worth hurting so many others? Big Brother France was still in so much pain. Austria, also on Germany's side, stood by and watched as they took over Hungary's land. It was like everything Italy believed in was being ripped apart at the seems. He was a coward, he knew. Germany would smack him upside the head if Italy told him the truth.

He couldn't do that. He owed Germany his life. But he also loved Big Brother France and Hungary. What would Romano do when Germany headed south, ready to take over Spain's land? But Italy supposed Germany would allow him that glory. Japan would get half of Asia and the Pacific. Germany would get the other half of Asia and all of Europe, aside from those countries south of Italy, which would be his. They were discussing North and South America, who would get those, but Italy really didn't care. He just wanted the war to hurry and end. Italy liked his boot-shaped peninsula just fine. He and Romano had always lived there; made it their home despite having to grow up under the Habsburg's and Spain's control.

Suddenly, one of the figures on the battlefield got up to their knees. Romano and Italy froze. _Someone's still alive down there?_

The blonde shakily readjusted his glasses and tried to stand, leaning on his rifle for support. "Canada," Italy guessed. Something inside him tugged at him, told him to rush to his aid. But they were enemies.

Canada fell and didn't try to get back up. Italy somehow knew he was crying at his defeat, probably thinking that he was finished. _Like Big Brother. _Canada looked just like him, almost. It was evident he was related to France as well. That meant, in a sense, that he was Italy's family too.

"What are you doing?" Romano asked, alarmed, when Italy started running towards him. Shaking his head in exasperation, Romano took off after him.

Italy held his tongue and knelt down at Canada's side. The blonde hazily looked up at him, the streaks on his cheeks drying in an instant. He must have thought Italy had come to finish him off.

Instead, Italy grabbed his arm and slung it over his shoulders. Romano and Canada were stunned into silence. "Romano, could you smuggle us a tent and some medicine?" Italy asked, starting to carry Canada away from the mass slaughter.

Romano stiffly nodded and ran back to camp. Italy's side was starting to feel wetter and wetter with Canada's blood, making him grimace. Canada didn't have long unless the two brothers could save him. If they didn't….

"Why're you helping me?" Canada whispered. Italy almost didn't hear him at first.

"You're related to Big Brother France, aren't you? You're my cousin or something like that. I can't turn my back on family."

Canada sighed. "I don't think we're technically related. France only raised me with Britain."

Italy shrugged the shoulder Canada wasn't leaning on. "Eh, it still counts. You're from North America, aren't you? It's a lot bigger than Europe, isn't it. I'd like to visit it one day. Maybe once the war is over, we can all visit each other! You can come by my place and I'll make you some pasta. Pasta is _delizioso_!"

Making his slow way away from the scene and away from camp where his and Germany's army were, Italy rambled, afraid to look down and see Canada dead. He had gone completely limp and deathly silent. Sometimes Italy paused, just to try and listen for breathing. It would tear him apart if Canada died now. Romano soon came after, carrying a medical bag. It had to have been stolen. Italy was both proud and sad that Romano would steal for his sake.

Italy finally put Canada down on the ground. The grass was hard and brown from the winter, but Italy was only glad snow hadn't fallen lately on their land. "I'll get him better," Romano said softly. "You look out for stupid Germany."

Italy nodded, finally noticing his shaking hands. He cringed every time Canada cried out in pain- but that was still a blessing. It meant he was still alive.

After a while, Italy found himself on his knees, clutching his rosary beads again. They were his only comfort in this war, reminding him that the good Lord was still watching from above. When the sky broke apart to shower icy rain on them, Italy wondered if the raindrops were His tears washing away the blood shed on the land.

The war wasn't even war anymore, Italy realized. It was hell.

((((()))))

"What do you mean, we've lost connection with the Canadian forces in Italy?" Britain burst.

China shrugged, narrowing his eyes in disdain at his outburst. "I try calling, no one answer. We need focus on protecting our lands, not invading. They crush us if we leave."

"Are you _kidding me_?" America deadpanned. "We aren't going to win a war by staying in one place and ignoring your other allies! If Canada's missing, we need to go find him! Once France is back on his feet, I say we take back the land Germany stole and corner him! Russia, you take him from the east, Britain and France take him from the west. China can cut between Italy and Germany to cut off their resources- Germany is getting their food and stuff from them anyway, isn't he? Canada can help you once we find him."

"What will you do?" China asked, seeming genuinely intrigued by this procedure. Russia and Britain turned to him as well. "You say you are hero, don't you? Do you think you can defeat Japan by yourselves?"

America had forgotten about him. He smacked his hand on the table. "If Japan tries anything on my side, I'll blow him off the map! No one messes with me!"

China's eyes slightly widened at that, but America figured it was out of surprise of his brashness than actual concern for Japan. After all, they were enemies, weren't they? America continued, crossing his arms. "After the last war, I've honestly been in some trouble back home. I can't stay here and bail you guys out. You have to work harder! I'll help from the sidelines as much as I can, but I'm not in any position to actually send troops."

"What? You can't be serious, America!" Britain burst.

America rolled his eyes. "I _am _serious, Britain. I've been telling you that's all I can do for a month! Now excuse me, guys, but I've got to head home."

"You can't leave us!" Britain argued, jumping out of his seat, ready to chase him down. "If you go, we'll die! As much as I hate to admit it, America, you're the only hope we have! You're full of these hero ideas- and half of them might actually work! I guarantee this war will help you get out of debt! It'll help keep the kids safe."

"Don't bring them into this! They're exactly the reason why I can't leave home!"

Russia politely coughed. "If I might say something?"

America impatiently tapped his foot. "Yeah?"

"Children follow in their parents' footsteps. If you don't fight and help us, then later when you're in a crisis, who's to say they won't help you fight? And besides, a little war is good for the soul. It keeps you strong and reminds you of who you really are inside. Hiding that self away will only cripple you later. Take me for example. All my life I have fought. I have more land than almost all of you combined," Russia said, his sweet smile never once fading. "A little bloodshed won't hurt anyone."

America flinched back. "Dude… that's just… that's just messed up. War isn't _ever _a good thing- it's terrible!"

Russia patiently smiled up at him. "What about when you fought Britain for your independence? That was a good war, was it not? You became your own country. You don't have to answer to him anymore. You proved you were stronger."

"Shut up!" America yelled. "You don't know a thing about me! I didn't want to fight him! I don't want to fight ever! But there's a fine line between doing what you have to and taking it too far! I've never done something I regret, and I don't intend on doing it now! I fight when I have to, that's it."

Russia's smile toned down a little into a knowing smirk. "You haven't figured it out then. You don't see the truth in the words I speak. If you stay and see this war unfold, I believe you'll understand."

"I don't want to understand a single thing in your sick mind," America said, putting on his coat and goggles. "I'm out of here. I'll send over your weapons soon, Britain. If you see Germany, kindly tell him to keep his butt out of my country."

Right as he went to open the door, a knock sounded. America sighed in frustration and opened the door. "What is it?" he asked, trying hard to keep the harshness out of his voice.

"We just received a call for you, America. The girl said it was urgent."

America's eyes widened. He grabbed the attendant's shoulders. "It wasn't from Virginia, was it?"

"I-it was," he stuttered. America shouted a curse and took off for the phone.

He grabbed the receiver. "Virginia! What's wrong?"

"Dad!" she cried in relief. "Japan just launched an attack on Hawaii. The others already went to help. Delaware and I are leaving as soon as I hang up. She's alright, but she's hurt pretty bad."

America bit back the second curse on the tip of his tongue and told her he was on his way back home. Before he hung up, Virginia quickly said, "Two men called me earlier and said they had found Uncle Canada. They said they were sending him home on one of their planes and not to attack it when it came."

"What? Whose plane?"

Virginia hesitated, then sighed. "Italy and his brother Romano."

America nodded. "Alright. Be sure to tell the others. I'm heading straight to Hawaii, alright?"

"Alright. Bye, Dad."

"Bye."

America turned around to see Britain, Russia, and China standing outside the doorway. He grimly told them what had happened. China went pale and wished him luck before ducking back into the room. Britain and Russia followed after him, their looks only saying the same things they had said over dinner.

"I'm coming, Hawaii."

((((()))))

"Take this, foreign crap!" North Carolina shouted, jumping off the side of his ship and onto the smoldering deck of Pearl Harbor. He started shooting at anyone in the wretched Japanese uniform, pushing back enemy soldiers. South Carolina wasn't far behind him on the ship he had brought, shooting out bombs at the Japanese naval fleet. "Missouri, Alabama, move in!"

"Virginia called!" Montana announced, running up to North Carolina with Idaho and Washington at his sides. "Dad's on his way. He said to do our worst against those slimy sushi-eaters."

"Heavily filtered version?"

"Oh, yeah. He was mad, she said."

North Carolina grinned at that before ordering them to go with New Mexico, Maine, and Rhode Island to the hospital Hawaii was at. Texas had carried the girl there himself, then had come straight back to help fight off the enemy. The Mid-West states and the Rocky States were doing well, with this being their first real battle. They hadn't been present for the terrible Civil War or the Revolutionary War.

The Carolina twins had been, and for them, chasing off the Japanese was nothing compared to the battles fought back then.

Everyone on the East Coast fought well together, seeming to corner the Japanese no matter where they tried to sail.

Things seemed to be going perfect- until Japan himself entered the fray. He was fast- wicked fast, with a katana that cut apart the states' metal machine guns and rifles. Tennessee and Kentucky nodded solemnly to each other and rushed the country, both swinging out their respective weapons: a banjo and a frying pan. Japan ducked under their weapons, nearly making them smack each other in the face.

"Where is America?" Japan asked, suddenly right in front of North Carolina. The eldest twin frowned and swung his foot out to trip him. Japan backflipped away and repeated his question.

"Right here, slant-eyed b- er, jerk!"

"Dad!" every state present burst in relief. America grabbed his rifle from his plane and charged Japan, roaring in fury.

"Get the heck away from my kids!" he yelled, shooting at Japan. Japan's dark eyes went wide as the shot whistled past his ear, cutting off a strand of hair. America waved the states off further into the town where the Pacific Coast and the Southeastern states escorted Hawaiians to safety and chased away the remaining Japanese. Japan saw his troops retreat out of the corner of his eye, only making him more determined to win against America now that they were one on one.

Both dodged bullets and katana slashes for what seemed like hours before America ran straight up to Japan, taking him by surprise. _If he has a long range weapon, why-?_

The states cheered when America punched Japan right between the eyes. He staggered back, seeing stars. America took his hesitation into consideration and kicked him over the deck into the Pacific. Two Japanese soldiers jumped into the water to retrieve the flailing, disoriented country. To further prove his point, America shot at the water behind them as they swam away to safety as fast as they could. Only when the fleet was swallowed by the night did America drop his gun. Its clattering fall echoed in the silence left after the battle, the states' energy starting to fade once more when America turned and ran towards the hospital.

Virginia hung her head to hide her own tears, sliding down her cheeks like her father's. _I hate war._

((((()))))

"Ah, Signore Italy, it seems we are missing a medical bag! The German troops pestered us until we did a 'routine inventory' and we discovered we were one missing!"

Italy blinked. Then, nervously wrung his hands. "Quick, we have to find another before Germany comes and-"

"And what, Italy?" the glaring blonde demanded. The two Italians squealed in terror, instinctively jumping two feet away from him. "You didn't lose any equipment, did you? I told you already that we don't have the money to keep replacing the things you lose! When will you ever learn!"

Romano popped up that instant to Italy's rescue, poking Germany in the chest. "Back off, Tater-Tard! It was probably one of your stupid soldiers who lost it somewhere!"

"ONLY YOU DARN ITALIANS WOULD DO SOMETHING SO CARELESS!"

"YOU DARN GERMANS ALWAYS BLAME EVERYTHING ON US! GO JUMP OFF A CLIFF, YOU-"

Italy nervously laughed, cutting off his brother's rant before he took it too far. "Ah, sorry, Germany. It was just a medical bag, though. We can just borrow one from Japan!"

Germany testily sighed, squeezing the bridge of his nose. "Fine, fine. I suppose it wasn't that important after all. But no more, Italy!"

"_Sissignore!_" Italy cried, saluting with a goofy grin on his face. He kept it up until Germany was gone. Italy and Romano both let out the breath they'd been holding. "That was close," Italy shivered, glad Germany hadn't caught on. He would have gotten _really _mad, then.

"You did good, Italy," Romano said, ruffling his hair. "But don't make me do that again. Idiot."

As Romano stormed off, the brotherly moment over, Italy smiled and looked up at the sky. "_Grazie per avermi dato questa grande fratello_. He's the best I could have gotten."

((((()))))

"You… what?"

"America reporting for duty!" he repeated, saluting for extra emphasis. "I sort of hate Japan's guts now, so I've decided to help you guys blow him out of the water!"

Britain's eye twitched, but instead of the usual exasperated sigh, America's brother grinned. "Welcome to World War II, America."

**For some reason, I love the idea of Italy being so religious- this of course alluding to The Vatican City and all that. I'm not Catholic, so I apologize to anyone who is in case I sort of ruined your way of doing things. I've never even actually **_**seen **_**real rosary beads before. I'm just going by google and TV.**

**And I dare you to tell me America isn't a family man deep down. With 50 kids, he has to be.**


	2. Chapter 2

**I'M ALIVE. This chapter would have been up two weeks ago, but I tragically lost my internet because of *insert excuse here* and I couldn't update. But it's back now, so enjoy lovely chapter two!**

**Chapter 2-**

_June 1942_

"You're telling us your plans this time?" Germany asked incredulously- with just the barest hint of sarcasm.

Italy frowned, opting to look at his muddy, scuffed boots than to get involved in the argument brewing. Germany had been like this for a while, now. He yelled at Italy more than he used to, seemed to act harsher to the prisoners of war he took after battles. The battles were horrible- the already stained land seeming to flood in crimson. Italy took longer to pray after those battles and it only made Germany snap at him to put his beads in his pocket and hurry with the rest of the troops.

He didn't like this new, more cruel Germany.

But Japan calmly nodded, careful not to get on Germany's bad side. It seemed he too was exhausted from arguments amongst the Axis. "If Britain had intercepted message, he would have informed America immediately. This time, I attack Midway. If I secure the island, America will lose a valuable naval and air base. I will better prepare myself for another attack on Hawaii soon after. I am sure I will seize it successfully this time."

Germany sighed. "I suppose you're right. I'll head south and attack the Crimea and Sebastopol. Maybe we can get more supplies soon…. Italy, what are your plans?"

The brunette's head snapped up. "Wh… what?"

"Your attack plans. Do you have any?"

Italy's mouth went dry. _I don't want to fight I don't want to fight I don't want to fight- _"I… I could… try North Africa again. W-with Rommel, maybe we can win it this time. I've learned from my mistakes, Germany, _prometto_. Besides, we do have Alexandria because of last time, so…."

Germany nodded. "Good, good. Try reaching Tobruk. If we chase away the British, we'll gain a lot more supplies. And Italy? Please don't retreat this time. Oh, but before you go, could you try and quiet down Poland? Someone crazier than him should do the job just fine."

As Germany wearily turned to inform his troops about their newest plans, Japan and Italy saluted, both half-heartedly. Italy wasn't sure why, but ever since Japan had attacked Hawaii, he felt uncomfortable around him. It was crazy to be afraid of Japan- they were good friends!- but the fear had already settled in. "I'll see you later, I guess, Japan. Um, good luck with Midway," Italy said, stepping back in retreat.

"Why did you help Canada?"

_That _was why Italy felt so strange around Japan. He could practically feel Japan glaring holes into the back of his head. And even worse, he had probably already told Germany- that had to have been why he hired Rommel to fight in the Mediterranean instead of him. But, to his surprise, when Italy turned, Japan's face was honestly curious instead of angry. "I haven't told Germany," he said, answering Italy's unasked question. "I'm merely curious."

Clutching the rosary beads in his pocket, Italy muttered, "I failed Big Brother France. He… took care of me after my wars, and I…. I'm such a terrible brother! And when I saw Canada on the battlefield- he looks _so much _like France- I had to help him! I-I mean… well…."

"Perhaps I was wrong," Japan murmured to himself, turning to leave with a thoughtful expression on his face. He raised his hand in farewell, leaving Italy alone.

_Wrong about what? Joining this war?_

Well… at least Romano was supposed to fix pasta for dinner tonight. He gotten it from Spain, bless him, along with a crate of tomatoes. Italy was glad to have something decent to eat before he went to battle again. The last time Italy tried to invade North Africa, Britain had fought back hard. He wasn't very anxious to try again, but Germany was already frustrated enough over his loss against Russia and America joining the war.

Italy readjusted his dull tie and walked away himself, regrets weighing down hard. _I never should have joined Germany. I could have been neutral, like Romano and Spain said I should have been, but then I never would have met Japan. I couldn't have saved Canada. But then again, maybe I could have helped France…._

But there was no turning back now. Italy either fought or he died. Whether or not he wanted to, he was on the path to becoming like Grandpa Rome. Scarred, battered Grandpa Rome….

Italy swallowed hard.

((((()))))

"America!" Britain called out, stalking through the camp. "America! That lousy- there you are!"

America looked up as Britain marched towards him. "Uh, Britain's coming. I have to go. Bye, love you too, California." He quickly hung up before spinning around with a smile. "Yo, Britain! What's up?"

Britain scowled at America's oblivious happy-go-lucky attitude. Not that he wasn't ecstatic at finally gaining his help (which had already began showing improvement), but frankly Britain care for so much cheer so early in the morning nor after a battle. "Quit using the phone and hurry to the meeting. Russia says one of his spies learned more information on the Axis."

"About them- California just told me she saw Japan's troops starting to hang around Midway. I bet he's going to attack soon," America faithfully reported. He picked up his gun beside the phone and nodded, waving Britain to lead the way. _If Japan attacks my Hawaii again, I swear I'm going to shoot off his face. _"I have to leave soon to take care of him."

Britain tensed, but only said, "Be safe when you go." Apparently he had more faith in America that he'd come back to help than he himself actually had.

Just a few months and America was already at his wit's end. Germany was ruthless, tearing apart the battle field like it was child's play. Japan and China had been going at it again, and Italy, although on a more milder tone than his allies, had been causing trouble in the south. America had fought in as many battles as he could, already enough to stain his dreams with screaming faces and fire. He hadn't slept in nearly two days- but he wasn't about to let Britain know that.

When America and Britain entered the meeting, they were met with a mighty argument.

"…don't care he your 'little brother', Italy is on the opposing side! I fight Japan!"

"However, unlike Italy, Japan is a bloodthirsty monster who recently tried to attack a _child_."

Hawaii. France was talking about Hawaii. Almost seeming to sense the bad mood come over America, France and China paused to watch America and Britain sit down. Canada, for whatever reason with that heavy cast on his arm, was also present but ignored. It almost looked like he was… scared.

"_Two men called me earlier and said they had found Uncle Canada. They said they were sending him home on one of their planes and not to attack it when it came."_

"_Who was it?"_

"_Italy and his brother Romano."_

So that was why. "Japan is a jerk. Italy is a wimp. I think we should focus on Germany first and foremost. He's the one pulling all the strings," America said, putting his feet up on the table. Ignoring the dirty look Britain gave him- like heck he cared if these guys thought he was a slob; he was proud to be a slob!- he continued. "Besides, I already told you guys I'd handle Japan. We really don't need to bother with Italy until we take out Germany."

Canada seemed to melt with relief. France looked ready to jump across the table and hug him. But China was less than thrilled. "Italy going to attack North Africa soon! We need to stop him from tapping Britain troops for supplies! Germany tell him to go, and of course he listens!"

America shrugged. "So we'll send in ships through Gibraltar to cut him off straight through the Mediterranean."

"Italy has impressive navy fleet."

"So does Britain, and when you add one of my fleets, we can overpower him before he gets there."

America had proved his point. Smug, he pushed up his glasses and grinned. But of course, since that would have been way too easy, Russia finally spoke up, drawing attention to that annoyingly calm smile of his. "You all seem to be forgetting that Italy defeated Britain last year in capturing Alexandria. Although his brother did most of the work preparing the submarines, Italy used his navy and the sea itself as a way to sink Britain's fleet. Although I do agree that Germany is a formidable foe, Italy can be a force to be reckoned with when desperation calls."

Britain, seated beside America, had gone pale. Canada seemed more frightened and confused than ever, clutching Kumajiro tight. The polar bear looked up in concern but, to America's amazement, didn't bother to ask who Canada was or why he was probably squeezing him to death. Russia noticed Canada's sudden discomfort and turned his acid smile on him, kindly asking, "Do you need a glass of water, Canada?"

With attention now on Canada, he looked like a deer in headlights. "Um… n-no thank you…," he whispered, seeming to shrink down in his seat. America turned his annoyed scowl on Russia, obviously feeling victorious over making him embarrassed.

"_Vous sentez bien_, Canada?" France asked softly, brotherly concern lacing in his words.

"_Oui_," he replied, barely audible.

Britain cleared his throat. "Shall we get back to business, gentlemen? Russia, you said your spies had information for us. Could you kindly tell us what that information is?"

He nodded, calling for Lithuania. The brunette instantly popped up at Russia's side, carrying a manila envelope. "H-here sir," he said, handing Russia the envelope. Again, he gave the other allies a fearful glance- his gaze lingering on America and Canada longer than the rest. Canada gulped but America figured he was just comparing the two. It seemed impossible that shy, nearly-invisible Canada and loud, in-your-face America were brothers and people looked at them funny all the time because of it.

"Okay!" he started jovially. "These are Germany, Italy, and Japan's plans! Germany plans to attack the Crimean and Sebastopol peninsulas. Japan hopes to forcibly take America's naval bases at Midway, and Italy, with lack of better plans, has decided to take Tobruk, hoping to procure supplies from British troops to aid Germany. And after Germany left, Japan and Italy talked alone. Japan seemingly has doubts about something, as does Italy." As Russia scanned the next line, his grin seemed to grow wider, like a kid's at Christmas upon finding his presents. He seemed to consider reading it aloud, but shook his head. "And then they left, Italy very sad about something."

"Do you think they're planning to defect to our side?" America asked ecstatically.

Britain moaned into his hands.

"You an idiot," China muttered. "Well, you fight Japan, America. Britain, you and France hit-"

France held up a finger. China narrowed his eyes at being so rudely interrupted. "Ah, actually, I can't do that."

"Why not?" Britain demanded.

"Germany has me on a leash. How he came in and practically massacred my people, you know?" he spat out acid with every word, his knuckles going white. "There's not anything I can do with Germany controlling half my land. If I fight back, he's going to dissolve me."

Britain's glared softened, but just by a fraction. The last person France would want pity from would be Britain. "Then I will go alone, with that frog so useless. Take care of Midway, America, and Russia-"

"I have already found a way to weaken Germany," Russia said slowly. Everyone was shocked to hear the hesitation in his voice. It wasn't like Russia at all to second-guess himself. "I have found a fellow country with grievances against Germany eager to help our cause. However, being captured by Germany, he will be able to help us little."

"Who this?" China asked, genuinely intrigued.

Russia slightly frowned. "Poland."

((((()))))

"_Polen_, you have a visitor," the harsh German officer barked into the dark recesses of Germany's basement. His boss had recently turned the former storage room into a prison of sorts. The many countries Germany had overpowered were trapped here.

After giving Italy a lonely flashlight, the officer slammed the door behind him. Shaking out of both fear and cold, Italy gingerly walked down the hall to furthest end of the cells aligned together. Poland was the first country Germany took over, making him the first prisoner.

The blonde nation leaned up against the bars of his cell, looking at his dirty nails in disdain. "Um… Poland?" Italy quietly asked.

Poland turned, blinked in surprise, then demanded, "Like, why are you here? Aren't you, like, friends with Germany?"

At his accusation, angry eyes darted on his figure at once, mentally ripping him apart. "I-I…."

Scoffing at his frightened stutter, Poland's attention went back to his nails, pulling his legs up to his chest. In horror, Italy finally saw how emaciated Poland was. The blonde was almost half the size of Italy, a thin person by most standards, and his hand shook when Poland lifted it up. "Ugh, this nail's chipped again…. So, Germany's friend, what're you, like, doing down here? Come to take another piece of my land? 'Cause that's, like, totes uncool."

Italy's voice was almost a whisper. "I don't know why I'm here."

Poland's dull green eyes darted back to him. "W-well," Italy started, scratching the back of his head, "Germany just sent me down here."

"Probably to get you used to it down here," someone called. "That's what he did with me. 'You can join my side; oh, but could you check on the prisoners, first?' Next thing I know, I'm down here starving with everyone else."

Cold fear gripped Italy's heart. _But… Germany _is _my friend. He… he wouldn't take over my land. We're the Axis! Us and Japan! We're… best friends…._

"Hey, like, shut up," Poland snapped. "He's not a pawn like you. Someone with actual importance. So, like, who were you again?"

"Italy Veneziano," he answered, thankful that Poland had quieted the others. Doubt was already nestled in his mind, making him have to remind himself that Grandpa Rome had to go through the same things.

But then again… didn't Grandpa Rome's friend strike him down?

_Germania. Grandpa's best friend. They got into a fight about something, and Grandpa lost. Germania dissolved him._

What was stopping Germany from doing the same to him? That stupid pinky promise they made at the beginning of the war? The treaties they and Japan signed, swearing the three of them to stick by each other and protect one another?

"Italy?"

That voice was one he recognized. Forgetting all about Poland and Germany for the time being, he nearly dropped his flashlight running to the tired voice, now sparked with hope. In one of the middle cells stood Hungary, one of his former charges.

Every shield he had built up broke down. Italy dropped to his knees, sobbing. "H-Hungry!"

"Shh, shh, Italy," she comforted, reaching her hand through the bars to comb through his hair. "It's alright. I'm alright."

"B-but, Germany l-locked you up!" he cried. "How could h-he? I t-told him to leave you a-alone!"

Hungary pursed her lips, like she used to do with Austria when he suggested she leave the fighting to him. Of course she always ignored him and helped with his wars anyway. "Italy. Look at me, a moment. Austria isn't here, is he?"

Italy shook his head. "He's living with Germany in his house."

"Prussia is with him, isn't he? Austria and Prussia are important people to you, aren't they?"

Italy only cried. "I'm not important like they are. I'm not useful enough to be allowed out. Germany is too afraid that I'll fight against him if I'm released. Which I would," she mused dryly, entertaining herself with the interesting thought of her smashing Germany's face in with a frying pan. "But I _am _useful enough not to dissolve. So even if I'm locked down here, I won't fade away."

"P-please don't leave," Italy whispered, his sobs dying down.

Hungary flinched, realized what she just said. She took Italy's shoulders, peering at him through strands of dirty, matted hair. "Italy. If you think that Germany is like-"

"I don't!" he burst, finally looking up to show her his tearing eyes. "Germany isn't a _thing _like Holy Roman Empire! Holy Roman Empire wouldn't have killed all these people! Holy Roman Empire wasn't a monster!"

"But you're still on Germany's side?"

Italy lowered his head once more. Every prisoner was listening intently now, their silence weighing down on Italy's shoulders. Their incredulous, pitying stares bore into his back, making him feel like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. In a sense, he was. Germany, Japan, and Italy, the Axis Powers, were seeking to take over the world.

Italy had come up with the Axis. _"Let's have a name that everyone will fear!" I said. I was joking, of course. I hadn't known we'd get so carried away with ourselves. What started out as simple revenge escalated into full-blown world domination._

_What did I get us into?_

Hungary exhaled through her nose irritably. "Italy, you know Germany better than any of one of us in this room. Is that really the Germany you know?"

"No," he found himself saying. And the worst part was, he knew it was true.

Germany was strict and harsh, but on the inside warm and kind. He relied on manuals for anything he did. He liked building things, making things stronger. And, though he would never admit it, Germany liked to bake cakes. He had made Italy one for Christmas between the world wars. Italy could tell it was baked by a big ole softy with a soft spot for sugar.

This Germany was different. A completely different person. He put up with Italy all the same, but it was forced, like he had to keep reminding himself of the treaty they signed. He was cruel to those on the opposing side, cruel to Italy and Japan, and he didn't care.

What had made him this way? He wasn't nearly as vicious and commanding during the first world war, nor the period of depression that had followed. Italy remembered the days he and Germany would have to scavenge for food together, always sharing, always looking out for each other. Italy knew Germany was his best friend despite how Italy was nothing but trouble for him. At first Italy had assumed he was only using him to try and rebuild the mighty Roman Empire like Holy Rome had tried to do.

It made him wonder, all of a sudden, if Holy Rome had been using him all along. After all, even though they were the absolute best of friends for centuries, before Holy Roman Empire left he still asked Italy that fateful question: "Will you come with me and become the Roman Empire again?"

Italy had told him no, remembering the terrible scars Grandpa Rome had had, and Holy Rome had left him. He even planned to leave before Italy awoke. It was only thanks to Austria that Italy caught him before he left. _I was fooling myself into thinking Holy Rome didn't want to hurt me. He didn't care about me!_

That was the lie. Italy's chest also weighed down as new tears fell. Holy Rome did care. He always cared. Always, always, always. With every letter until the accursed day France came to tell Italy he was gone, Italy knew Holy Rome cared.

He cared more than Hungary and Austria. More than Romano. More than Grandpa Rome ever had.

Hungary's face softened and she resumed combing her hands through his hair. "You're a strong country, Italy. Maybe not in war, but in there," she said, pointing to his chest. "You know what's right. And I have faith that you'll be the one to win this war. Not Germany, not Japan, not the Allies. You."

"How am I supposed to do that?"

"Do what you think is best."

Italy had no idea what that was. Part of him wanted to stick with Germany until the end, because they had promised and Germany had saved his life, while another part of him wanted to bring the war to an abrupt halt and rebuild everything.

Which one was right? Which one would make things better?

Once again, Italy instinctively pulled out his rosary beads, shaking as he begged, not prayed. Hungary put her hands over his, closing her eyes in her own prayers.

"And deliver us from evil…."

((((()))))

_November 1942_

France no longer had control over himself. He was Germany's pawn, his major blow against the Allies' morale.

Sitting stiffly with his legs crossed, nose in the air in defiance, France sat on Germany's couch between Prussia, admiring one of his many swords in an attempt to avoid his former friend's eyes; and Austria, contentedly sipping at his tea.

Japan was ragged, but held up well in the face of Germany and his (albeit forced) allies. He had lost the battle of Midway against America and most of the skirmishes thereafter. Things were looking up for the young country in most of his battles. France knew as well as Britain that America would win their war for them. The spirited country was too stubborn to lose to the likes of the Axis.

The Asian was in the middle of a meeting with France's captor, trying to convince him to boost up their defenses in Africa.

France was torn when it came to Italy: in a brotherly way, he hated to think of the rest of the Allies ripping his land apart, but rationality told him to hope Italy would fall under Britain and America's sheer force and infallible will-power.

Of course, in war, France was forced to believe in rationality. "You know, you two," France started, "Italy is fine on his own. He held up fine with Napoleon, if I remember correctly. He was happy to become my Cisalpine Republic."

Austria shot him the dirtiest look he could while still acting as poised and proper as was possible. "Shut your mouth, France."

"Scared of me, even now?" France teased, cocking an eyebrow. "I may be beaten, but I'm not dissolved yet."

"I can easily change that."

The sound of a gun cocking wiped France's smirk off. He slowly turned to meet Germany. The blonde's unwavering expression told France he was serious about shooting him if he didn't kindly shut his mouth.

"West," Prussia snapped, looking up from his sword with a glare just as fierce.

Germany blinked, as if regaining control over himself, and put his gun away. "In any case, France, I believe it's time we put you to use in the war."

France paled. Germany smirked. "Africa. Against America and Britain. You and Italy will regain control of our territories in the south. After you destroy the British and American fleets, you will help us in our endeavors to take over Britain. Understood?"

Begrudgingly, France nodded. "Yes, sir," he said quietly rising up from his spot. "Shall I prepare the troops right away?"

"Japan," Germany called instead, "tell Italy to quit his praying and get ready for battle."

After Germany turned and walked off, France could have sworn he saw contempt in Japan's eyes. But he merely bowed in farewell to Prussia and Austria and left as he was told, disappearing down into the quiet dungeons below.

"His stupid boss," Prussia muttered under his breath. "Yo, Austria. Done playing tea party?"

The noble, to get on Prussia's impatient nerves, took a long, slow sip of his tea. "You know Germany wouldn't take nicely about you speaking of Adolf that way."

_Hitler. His boss. Could that be what has Germany in a twist?_

Nations were forced to follow their leader's directions, whether they liked it or not. It had been that way for centuries. But if Germany's boss was turning him into an atrocious, horrifying monster, something had to be done before he ended up that way forever. After all, that was what had happened to Russia. Even as a young country Russia spent his years tossed to and fro between terrible and righteous leaders, every one power hungry and cruel in their own right. If he wasn't so fearful, France would actually pity his former ally.

But he didn't have time to deal with Germany or Russia. He was due in Africa right away.

_I'm sorry Britain, America. Even if it means Italy and I losing, I sincerely hope you crush us._

After a final thought, France paused and bowed his head in a quick prayer of his own. _Jeanne. Watch over the two of us, please._

((((()))))

"_A-America," gasped one of his shoulders, a young man no older than eighteen. The nation dropped to his side, eyes widening at his torn, bloody shirt. Charred skin was slowly covered by gushing blood from the hole in his side. "I… I hope we win."_

_The soldier, despite everything, gave him a smile. "You're… a great country. My family back home… they're hard at work. They're trying to end the Depression."_

_So, he was another of the soldiers whose family had sent him to war for America's sake, hoping, wishing, praying that this war would bring them out of the dust. America had seen plenty other soldiers like him, most of them having lied about their age, so very willing to give up their lives for America's sake._

Just like with the other soldiers_, America felt tears spring to his bloodshot eyes. "Soldier, what's your name? I'll… I'll make sure you make it back home."_

_But already, laying still in America's arms, he was gone. Choking, America shut his eyes and gently laid him back on the ground, wincing as another nearby bomb shuddered the earth behind him._

_When America turned back to his troops, he found a massacred platoon, their unseeing eyes staring at the darkened sky above them. The dead bodies of his children were scattered among the troops; Hawaii's small, round face splattered with the blood of her brothers and sisters. Britain and France were amongst the fallen as well. Canada and his bear. Russia. Italy. Romano. China and Japan, fallen at each other's side, like the brothers had been fighting on the same team instead of against each other. Prussia and Austria. Poland, Hungary, and the other countries fallen victim to Germany's reign of terror._

_He was alone. All alone in this foreign land, surrounded by the dead bodies of his people._

_The only other man left in the wake of the massacre was Germany himself, face contorted into something other than himself. The face of his boss, his generals, the terrifying scientists America had only heard of._

_And at his feet lay America himself, rifle across his chest._

With a shudder, America awoke, spluttering a shout of mad terror.

But of course, like when he awoke from any other nightmare, America promptly shut his mouth and dropped his face in his shaking hands. That soldier was like so many of the others who had met their deaths while America was awake. Their soldiers dying when he was asleep, too. He felt it in the pit of his stomach every time one fell, making him feel sick and helpless knowing he had no way to help them.

They were his people. America was nothing without his people.

His children… all forty-eight of the states and Hawaii; they were what kept him going, kept him pressing forward with all his might.

His fellow countries were his family. Family that he loved, fought with, and sometimes hated.

"America?" a small, fearful voice called out across from his bunk.

Quickly wiping his stray tears, America silently jumped down and met Canada, his faithful little brother come to check on him. "Sorry," he apologized awkwardly, trying his best to dispel the horrifying image of his brother dead out of his mind.

Canada only sighed. When America thought all was said and done and Canada was assured America wasn't hurt, Canada surprised him with a hug.

Canada had always been smaller, weaker than America. People always forgot about Canada while everyone acknowledged loud and proud America. But America knew that his brother was, in a sense, bigger and stronger; someone that everyone should recognize. Because unlike America, Canada had a heart of gold, untainted by thoughts of expansion and war. Not that he knew how to stand up for himself, of course. Canada was the only country to ever beat America in a war. The War of 1812 had shown America so many things he never knew about his brother. And when Canada had burned down his capitol in 1814, America knew he'd never underestimate him again.

His thin, strong arms were always warm and comforting to America. Not that'd he really know, because America had always shoved Canada away, proclaiming that he didn't need a hug to feel better.

But he didn't push him away this time. "It's alright, America," Canada softly told him, slightly smiling when America returned the hug and buried his face in his shoulder. "It's alright."

And even though they both knew perfectly well that it wasn't, neither brother pushed away from each other.

((((()))))

"Protect the banks!" France shouted, running past his soldiers. "Don't let the Americans step foot on this soil!"

Italy and Romano were also prepping their troops, Romano doing most of the yelling while Italy helped check their equipment. The Italian brothers had kept their distance from France ever since Germany shipped them off to Africa. France didn't blame either of them, despite how it wounded his heart.

They were right not to trust him, because at the first chance he got, France was going to escape back to the Allies.

Suddenly, the first round of bombs hit. American planes flew over hit, spitting bullets into the arid ground.

And so the battle began.

((((()))))

"You lost Africa!" Germany burst. "Italy! You _idiot!_ Do you know how many valuable supplies you cost us? Do you?"

Italy fought hard to keep his tears in check, especially when Germany grabbed his shoulders. "Stop your sniveling! We have to do something about this!"

Romano smacked Germany's hands away from Italy, pulling his brother behind him. "Maybe we wouldn't have lost if you hadn't trusted France! Honestly, you stupid German, what were you thinking, letting him join the battle? You're the one to blame, butthole, not Veneziano!"

"WEST! ROMANO!"

The two countries, poised to punch each other in the mouth, froze at the sound of an angry Prussia. The albino ran up and yanked their arms back down. "What the heck are you idiots doing!" he demanded. "This isn't the time to be fighting like bunch of two-year-olds! You are allies, like it or not. You agreed to this _together_. You already have five enemies! That's far too many for you two to be making enemies of one another! Look, West," Prussia started hotly, turning on his brother. "I've been in more wars than you are old. You have to lose some battles. That's how war goes. But you're getting too far in over your head! You've gotten your revenge! France is practically at your feet now, even if he did escape back to the Allies! That's what you wanted, isn't it? To make him pay for Versailles? To be recognized?"

"This isn't about that anymore!" Germany shot back. Prussia's glare only darkened.

Behind Romano, Italy was crying harder now.

"Then please tell me why we're still fighting, Germany."

The blonde nation was taken aback by Prussia calling him by name. For as long as he remembered, he had always been "West" to his brother. But Germany recovered quickly. "This is about us cleaning out Europe of pathetic countries like France. This is the war to end every war- don't you see? If we keep fighting, eventually we'll-"

Prussia, despite his earlier speech, reared back and punched him in the face. Germany stumbled back in shock, falling down.

A long while passed before anyone spoke. Germany's nose was bleeding, but he merely wiped it on his sleeve, already bloody from battles. The Italy brothers were deathly silent, holding their breaths, aghast at the scene before him.

Suddenly, with a deep, slow breath, Prussia spoke again, calmly. "Persia. The Roman Empire. Germania. The Byzantine Empire." He reached down his hand and hauled Germany up to his feet. "The Ottoman Empire. The Holy Roman Empire. You know about these guys, right? You know what they did?"

"…They were great. Strong."

"Yes, they were. And you know what all of them thought they were? Infallible. Every single one of them."

Italy flinched, squeezing Romano's hand hard.

Prussia sighed. "But they all fell. Why? Because they got in over their heads. They were too busy basking in how awesome and powerful and big they were that they didn't notice dissent and enemies creeping up on them until it was too late and they vanished. I don't want you to end up like them, West. You've done enough. You've won this war. If you call it quits now, you'll have loads of respect for your military tactics and your victories. But if you don't, you'll end up losing everything you worked hard for."

Germany sighed as well, but stood up straight, eyes narrowed in determination. "Prussia, I can't just stop the war here. I have to continue fighting. You'll see I was right after we win."

Wiping at his nose to try at stop the bleeding once more, Germany turned and left them, not caring a bit if he had just lost his allies. As far as he saw it, he would be better off without Italy's whining and Prussia's stubbornness. They would see. A few more years, a few more influential battles, and they would see how right he was.

He was right. Because, after all, if he wasn't, he wouldn't have made it this far, would he?

**Well, seems I decided to continue! This story should be maybe four or five chapters, depending on how much I can cram into a chapter at a time. Most of it will be centered around Italy until the end with the bombing of Japan by America. There will be many parts in history passed up as well as parts screwed up. I won't be writing any of the Holocaust.**

**Again, I screwed up history to fit the story better. Hungary wasn't taken over by Germany until much later as well as a few more changes here and there that I'm too lazy to try and remember.**

**On a random note: if you all haven't watched Hetaoni, you seriously need to. SotetAG on Youtube, my friends. It's the greatest thing ever.**


	3. Chapter 3

**I've been looking forward to this chapter forever now. This is the chapter that shows how kick-butt awesome them Southern Italians can be. **

**Also, this is the first time I've written Australia. I'm basing Australia's personality on how I've read him in fan fictions because the internet hates me when I try to pull something up about Hetalia.**

**Note: This chapter is a tad more gory than previous chapters.**

**Chapter 3-**

_February 1943_

They were almost there.

For six months, America had camped and fought endlessly for access of Savo Island. It had been hard- especially at first, when America had completely underestimated Japan's forces on the island. He and Australia had been pushed back _hard._ But thankfully, America soon learned, Australia was just as stubborn and hard-headed as he was.

The two had grown close over the course of this campaign. Australia's accent had never ceased to amuse America, lightening his otherwise dreary days of battle and little sleep. There were matching dark circles under Australia's eyes too, only further making America crack up because of how they, along with that absurd bandage over his nose to keep the harsh, perpetual sunburn underneath protected; made his face look so… so _funny._

He hadn't realized it, but America had been laughing a lot ever since he and Australia teamed up against that "slant-eyed tosser", as Australia said. He had laughed at that, too. Laughed at every other crude comment and sneer against their enemy from Australia. Laughed the laugh of a man slowly losing his sanity.

When had been the last time he had talked to his kids? The last time he had heard an update on how New York's proud Joe Simon and Stan Lee were doing with their _Captain America_? Last July, along with the latest shipment of weapons from the Carolinas, America had gotten a copy of every issue thus far, each signed by the authors themselves.

Sometimes, when he wasn't laughing and questioning his fleeting sanity, America wished he could win this war as easily as Steve Rogers and Bucky could thwart the Red Skull.

This particular day had been a day of victory. Single handedly, Australia and America had decimated a fleet. They adorned crazed smiles as they plowed through the skinny Japanese, laughing at their missiles and guns and each bullet that hit home in the countries. They hadn't even felt the pain of said bullets until after the battle had died down and they had successfully pushed Japan and his soldiers back just a little further.

It was now when the pain was at its worst. The salt in the air stung and batted each wound America sported, making him miss his inland capitol of Washington. As nurses dabbed at his wounds, harsh alcohol nearly making him cry out, America entertained himself with thoughts of going home.

He and the kids could fill up a cinema and watch a movie or two, then head over to West Virginia's place for one of those country meals America missed so much. Buttery mashed potatoes, green beans, and corn bread; food that American had actually liked from England and had decided to keep after the Revolution. Afterwards, Kansas and Nebraska would make apple pie- his favorite. They would laugh and eat and explore the woods and pretend that they didn't hear the agonized wails of soldiers laying beside him taking their last breaths and gasping his name and begging him to help them and-

America shut his eyes. Pretending to be someplace kind and unknown to the bloody shores of Pacific islands like this one was impossible with so much death choking him. Sleep was a blissful, unattainable dream in its own. The only time America slept was when he literally collapsed after days of watching his soldiers fall with each resounding boom that tore at his ears.

Australia wasn't nearly as shell shocked as he was. The younger nation was just as exhausted and blood-spattered, but he wasn't also fighting in Europe. He wasn't fighting all three monsters that made up the Axis at once. America was, and he was suffering. The better his economy got back home, the better America could fight. He had ten times the stamina his best soldiers had, but even then he still sometimes wished he would fall to the soiled ground and close his eyes in an eternal rest that wouldn't plague him with nightmares. There was everything that could be wrong with his morbid wish, but the main reason he couldn't do this was that he was a nation. Nations do not die so easily. It takes political upheaval, economic downfall, or ravaging war to kill a country. Even then, it was a hard, arduous process.

No. He wouldn't- couldn't- think thoughts like that. America needed them- the states, Britain and France.

Speaking of the blonde duo, they were currently in Europe, struggling and planning. Last month they and America, on a temporary leave from his post at Savo, had flown in secret to Casablanca.

There, they met a sight more pitiful than the Allies combined.

Spain was Fascist and poverty-ridden- nearly more so than America at his arrival to the war. The smiling, happy Spaniard America knew well from his days as a colony and later a young country was long gone in the man that had stood before them. Spain's every word had been exhausted and laced with scarcely-veiled concern towards the war up north. He had declared himself to be neutral, but America knew as well as Britain that he allowed German planes to land and restock at Madrid. However, they didn't say anything to him about this. The shaking of his hands when they had first brought up Italy in their discussion had been enough to make them push his blunders out of their minds.

Neither Spain nor Francisco Franco, his boss, could stop themselves from literally begging Britain and France to do something about Romano and Italy. He had been a worse mess than France upon hearing his beloved little brothers and henchmen had thrown themselves into war. They were hardly prepared! Not nearly up to par with the other countries' militaries! His little Italies were going to get themselves in a situation as terrible as his and it was _his _fault for not pleading with them long enough to remain neutral!

They had decided on that day in Casablanca that they would begin the liberation of Italy from the holds of the Axis. It didn't matter if Italy had been all too eager at first to please Germany and Japan, or that Romano had supported his brother all the way when he realized Italy had no intention of idly sitting by while his friends fought.

But more battles pulled them away and prevented them from successfully taking any Italian mainland. They decided instead to focus on Sicily first. Another attempt at liberating the island; a second try for the Canadian and British troops. With America on their side, they would win this time!

America had cheered and clapped Canada on the back, telling him that with the hero on the job they would set things right. He had put on a smile and spun Britain around until said blonde nation had clunked him on the head, demanding that he be put down before he tossed him into the English Channel to freeze to death. Lastly, America had boldly told France not to worry about Italy any longer, because America was going to make him see the light.

Every word he had spoken was empty.

Sure, there was nothing America wanted more than to help them, but he absolutely did not want to fight any longer. He was a hero, yes, but every hero had a weakness.

Even though America won victory after victory against each of the Axis, the hole that found its way in the depths of his heart was slowing ripping him further and further apart. It was becoming increasingly harder to speak to Britain with the goofy grin the Brit expected, _needed _to see; and to laugh off Canada's concerns for his health. He was the epitome of health! America was stronger than everyone and surer than everyone that they'd win the war!

They… would win the war. Germany would stop killing so many people. The land would seep up the blood spilled and scholars would write the battles and deaths down in a book to solemnly teach children of later generations. The terrors of the war he was fighting would be mere memories and, after the soldiers of this time passed away, nothing more than a terrible story.

America would remember. Every child that had fallen, every scream as a friend from their squadron died, every drop of blood that he had spilled.

The Axis weren't the only monsters.

America was one, too.

"'Merica!" a fond accented voice was calling. "America, mate, we've almost got 'em! General's sendin' the troops to blow them off the map right now! This time tomorrow, Savo's gonna be ours!"

Australia, left arm heavily bandaged and limp at his side, excitedly hopped up to him. There was a light in his eyes that America hadn't seen in a few months. They really were about to win their first invasion. They were going to win!

At his side, America grabbed his gun with a grin that was only half forced. "Alright! Let's go, Austria!"

"Australia."

"Right-o, matey!"

"…Now you're just being insulting."

_July 1943_

"Mr. Ciano resigned a few months ago," Italy quietly told Hungary. The young country sat on the cold floor that was slowly sucking the warmth from his body, leaning against the hard bars that separated him from his former charge. Italy held onto her hand through the bars, knowing that as long as he felt the sweet warmth at their touch he would be alright.

Because if he lost Hungary….

Italy sighed and looked up at the dark ceiling. He couldn't see anything but endless black, stretching from one dark wall to the next, where Poland quietly, contentedly sat, ever looking at his nails or picking at his limp, dirty hair. Italy had tried to sneak in things for the prisoners, but Germany seemed to be able to tell every time and banned him from visiting for a long time. This particular visit was the first in half a year. The Italian was ashamed to see the countries- those so much older and once more powerful than he would have ever dreamed of being- sitting, starving, waiting for their end to come.

He was tired of seeing people so despondent. Italy wanted to see them smile- just to see _someone smile_.

The echo of the basement lock clicking open resounded through the room. Italy and Hungary looked to the door to see a skinny shadow in the doorway. "Veneziano, are you down there?"

"Romano!" he happily burst, jumping up to his feet. It had been so long since he last saw his brother. Germany had been sure to keep Italy as close as possible to his side, pushing away everyone but Japan. They were the Axis. No one else mattered in Germany's mind, apparently. Not even the other half of Italy.

In his excitement, Italy hadn't noticed the paleness of his brother's face, or the way his breathing seeming raspy, like breathing had become a chore. Italy threw his arms around him, making Romano's knees buckle. But he caught himself, meeting Italy's hug with one arm and holding himself up with the other. "Romano, I missed you so much- have you seen Spain lately? How's his economy doing? Any better? Is fishing still doing good for you? Britain hasn't been mean down south, has he?"

"…I've been fighting," he answered.

Italy pulled back in an instant.

He could see, now, all too well the bandages under Romano's half-unbuttoned shirt. His boots and pants were caked with dry mud, the rest flecked with blood splatter and gory stains. His amber eyes were dulled and bloodshot, like sleep had been unattainable for a week. Romano's hands were blistered and red, his arms bandaged and at odd angles- probably broken, but hadn't been set. After all, Romano was a country. What pain crippled normal people would not cripple him. What would kill a normal person would not kill him. So they had probably bandaged him to stop the bleeding from tracking gore around in Germany's spotless house and turned him loose.

"Romano," Italy whispered.

"The Allies are planning to take over Sicily once and for all. They're going to take over Sicily and later invade the mainland. I… I wanted to warn you," Romano lifelessly reported, slightly swaying on his feet. Italy quickly sat him down on the stairs. The skeleton of a person sitting before him certainly was not his brother. Italy betted that Germany himself wouldn't be able to invoke Romano's rage in his state.

Lips trembling, Italy knelt down and hugged his brother once again. Germany probably wouldn't let him go to Sicily and help Romano fight off the Allies. No, he'd likely send in a few soldiers, pretending that he cared, and leave the land to wilt. All that mattered now was keeping the north safe- Veneziano, who still supplied German soldiers with food and smiles and was able to take the yelling and screaming without fighting back. After all, Mussolini was there. No, Italy would not- could not- fight back against Germany. He was terrified of Germany. He was reduced to tears dozens of times a day, but each day Italy was growing more and more used to cruelness of his friend.

It scared him, but sometimes Italy wouldn't bat an eye at bloodied landscapes like before. He'd been in the war so long that painful cries hadn't made him cringe like before. Nightmares didn't wake him up in the earlier hours of the morning. Instead, he considered the real nightmare to be when he was awake.

Romano didn't waste any time in swallowing his pride to fling his arms around his baby brother's neck and cry. He was scared- more scared than he had ever been. Spain was not here to rescue him, now. No one was there to help him fight. He was so utterly alone and powerless against the onslaught that was coming and he was terrified that he would die-

"It's alright, it's alright," Italy comforted almost mechanically, the dry lies coming forth nearly strangling him. It most certainly was _not _alright. This war… this war was ripping _everyone _apart. Even those not directly involved, like Spain, were suffering the consequences. Italy wondered if Spain was aware of Romano's terrified sobbing right now, or that Italy himself was slowly turning into Germany's puppet- as if he hadn't been from the very beginning, he was beginning to believe.

He missed Spain's smile and cheery attitude. Without fail, Spain had always found a way to take care of his beloved Italies, until now. After the terrible civil war that nearly ripped apart Spain just a few years before this accursed war, Spain was reduced to a frowning mess, deep in debt to nearly everyone, it seemed. He was the mere opposite of how he had been in the Age of Exploration.

Spain wasn't one to bother much about honor and pride, but getting this low after being so great was sure to make anyone sour. Italy hoped that he would raise out of all this mess once this was over.

But Spain wasn't here right now. He didn't even matter to Italy- not with all the other things shattering his heart and mind in this war.

Romano still hadn't let Italy go when his cries had subsided. He was still, quietly absorbing the moment of being with his brother. Any day now- any _minute _now, rather- the Allies were going to attack. Japan had told Romano about their spies' findings on his way to Germany's house just a few days ago. The Japanese man had been terribly battered and beaten, but he had still held his head high. He and his soldiers had recently faced another defeat at the hands of America, and with the threat of the Americans advancing towards the Japanese mainland, Japan had decided to transport some of his own prisoners of war to Germany.

They, no doubt, would be arriving any minute as well. Romano had been surprised and aghast to see his prisoners. They were more well-fed than those Germany had taken prisoner, but they were in rags and walked with a wince at every step. Their faces had been swollen and red, angry cuts laced every inch of skin Romano had been able to see. The four of his prisoners had each looked upon Japan with varying looks of hatred and unmasked sorrow, as if seeing him this way was utterly painful. It reminded Romano of the look on Spain's face last time he had seen him. It had been three years, but Romano wasn't about to tell that to Italy.

But there had been one prisoner that was utterly painful to see. Romano had tried his best to avoid meeting the young man's swollen, black eyes, nearly crusted shut with dried blood from terrible cuts all over his face. His raven hair was an oily, tangled mess that probably hadn't been managed in months. His ankle was twisted at an odd angle, but Japan snapped at him every time he slowed down because of it. Japan had been so harsh to this particular prisoner, more so than the others. But Romano still found it funny how he had been wearing such a regal yukata. He also spoke Japanese, but with such a strange accent.

However, his awful appearance hadn't been what had ripped through Romano's heart.

It was the way he had smiled and called Japan his beloved nii-san.

Romano knew bits and pieces of Japanese, so he knew that "nii-san" was an endearing term for "brother". Hearing that had made Romano sick to his stomach. He would rather die than ever see Veneziano so badly hurt like that- would rather ask the devil himself to personally take him to hell than to lay a finger on him with ill-intentions like that. Sure, Romano slapped his brother and shoved him along, but something like that…. It was too much. Too far.

In that very instant, every ounce of respect Romano had ever had for his least-annoying ally drained out of him. Japan was just as much a monster as Germany.

And that got Romano to thinking: were he and Veneziano monsters, too?

Italy pulled him back by asking, "Do you want some pasta, fratello?"

_Germany is a lovely place, don't you think, nii-san?_

"No. Save your pasta for yourself. I've got to get back to Sicily. I'm sending them up north to Calabria and Basilicata. I don't want… to see my people die."

Italy frowned, but helped him back to his feet. With one last hug, he hid his face in Romano's shoulder. "Come back safe, fratello," his voice muffled. "This war is going to end soon. I promise."

Quickly, Italy flashed him a bright smile and skipped back downstairs. Off to relay the terrible news to Hungary, no doubt. Romano nodded down to the shadows of that horrible place and shuffled his way back.

It was going to be a long ways back home.

((((()))))

_June 10, 1943_

Italy was in middle of a somber midnight snack/meeting with Germany, Prussia, Austria, and Japan when the first excruciating pain slammed into him. With a wail, Italy dropped his fork and doubled over, clutching his chest. It felt like a thousand daggers were being stabbed into his heart at the same time. He gasped in oxygen that was only going to be hyperventilated out. The stars and dark blotches that danced in his vision had caused him not to notice that Prussia and Austria were now in the floor on either side of him, Prussia barking for a soldier to bring a rag and a bowl of cold water, and Austria trying his best to calm him down.

He swam in and out of consciousness, only once seeing Germany, face twisted in concern, once. Italy had seen him talking to a soldier, hearing just how terribly Sicily was bombed.

_Eight thousand estimated dead._

Romano. Romano was down there. Romano was the one who held true control over Sicily- who was truly feeling the pain right now. Italy had to get down there and help.

"You're not going anywhere," Prussia roughly said, wiping sweat off of his forehead. Italy hadn't meant to voice his declaration aloud. "West is sending more troops to help down there. You'd hardly be able to fight."

"R-Romano," he croaked. How on earth was he able to take this pain, but no doubt doubled or even tripled? Mainland Italy hadn't suffered any bombing yet. He hadn't felt the true extent of anything yet. Italy's hand was back to his chest, grabbing at his shirt as a new onslaught erupted through him. The next row of bombing.

Where was Romano? Was Romano still alive?

He had to go to Sicily.

Prussia scowled down at him. He stood up, tossing the rag to Austria. "_I'm _going to Sicily," the albino decided. "I'm leading your troops, West. Japan, get him some pasta, wurst, and some of those rice thingies. Austria, keep him down until the pain eases off. Then take him to bed and tie him down, if you have to. You're not leaving this house until the Sicily campaign is over, Italy."

Italy blacked out shortly after that.

((((()))))

America, Canada, and Britain, after a steady day of bombing and shelling everything in sight on the island, entered the city of Sicily.

As expected, there were but a few buildings left intact. Debris and dead bodies littered the streets, but all three were well aware that most of the city's population had fled within the first hour of the bombing. Most of those littering the way were women and elderly- those who weren't able to flee. It frankly made America sick to his stomach.

But this was a good thing, he had to keep reminding himself. It didn't matter how many people they had massacred and obliterated. They were murdered in the name of peace. With their deaths, they were one step closer to saving Italy and Romano and kicking pesky German influence out of the Mediterranean.

"I don't see him anywhere," Canada's hushed whispered echoed through the silence of noon in once-lively Sicily. He clasped his trembling hands behind his back, biting his bottom lip. Britain ignored Canada's worry and ducked his head into one of the more intact buildings.

He emerged with a frown on his face. "I could have sworn I just saw an elderly woman with a rifle," he said, shaking his head at the absurdity of it all.

America wasn't sure it was so crazy. He had seen plenty of things over the course of the war. What was so different about a grandmother with a gun? Inwardly, America hoped she was preparing her family to leave before the next bombing hit, if it did. America also hoped they wouldn't bomb the place any more.

This destruction… it was one of the worst battle sites he had seen yet. America found his hands shaking like Canada's. He hid his fear by rubbing his arms. "Geez! I thought Italy was supposed to be hot- it's freaking freezing out here!"

Neither Canada nor Britain bothered to point out that he was sweating.

America frowned at the wasteland before him. Every body was undoubtedly Italian. Where were all the German troops he had seen earlier? There weren't many- figures Germany would blow off Sicily like this- but there should have been at least a _few _German casualties. Seeing a couple of them strewn about would make America feel a bit better about this whole campaign. "Where are the Germans?" he asked aloud.

And suddenly, there they were.

The two monstrously huge German soldiers ran out of a half-standing building before them, screaming "Allied abschaum!" at the top of their lungs. America drew out his handy pistol, but before he could fire, there came a resounding crack of gunfire that felled the two soldiers instantly.

America instead turned around, pointing his gun at the broken windows of a home behind them. His murderous expression eased into a concerned frown when he discovered their savior had been the same elderly woman Britain had seen earlier. She plopped in three new bullets and took aim at them. America dropped his gun. "Wait a minute!"

A flurry of Italian curses flew out of the woman's mouth. Canada's eyes went wide. "This is the first time I've ever heard a grandmother utter words like that, foreign language or not."

"We're definitely in Southern Italy, alright," Britain mirthless mused. "Ma'am, we wish you no ill will. We merely came to survey the damage and rescue those like you who survived the-"

She shot at his feet. Britain jumped back, eyes narrowing in alarm. Whoever this woman was, she had astounding aim. "You think I don't recognized Allied scum when I see them?" she shouted in rickety English. "You think I'm senile enough not to know you three are the countries that did this to us?"

America's eyes widened. "You know about us countries?" Only those in the military, his brothers in arms, knew America was a country instead of everyone's ever-so-loved Alfred F. Jones. He assumed it had been the same with the other nations, as well. The looks on Canada and Britain's faces told them the same was for them- only their militaries and bosses knew their true identities.

The woman snarled. "You nearly killed him!"

"Romano!" Canada shouted, taking off running towards her. America shoved him to the ground right as she fired at him. Canada pushed him off and called up to her, "Please! I don't mean to hurt him! I'm Canada! H-he saved my life! I need to return the favor!"

"He _what?_"

Britain was ignored.

The old woman furrowed her eyebrows. Without turning her head, she looked sideways and called, "Sa un Canada?"

A little girl with a bandaged head popped up beside her. "E 'ancora incosciente. Io non voglio svegliarlo." The girl turned towards the three nations outside. The bandage over her head covered her left eye as well. The bandage was flooded with blood. It was crusted all over the side of her face. Canada's hands flew up to his mouth at the sight. The girl's lips trembled and she ducked back into the recesses of the house.

"Canada?" the woman tested. "Then you two are America and Britain?" At their nods, she lowered the gun. "Come on in. I'll flay your backsides in here."

America and Britain exchanged weary looks before following Canada's sprint.

The foyer was completely destroyed, but the living room was in better condition. The once beautiful pieces of furniture were covered in bullet holes. The wallpaper was peeling and the hardwood floors were stained with blood- _everywhere. _Blood was spattered on nearly every inch of floor and walls. There was a smear, however, through the blood leading to the stairs the woman led them up. She paused at one of the more interior rooms, turned back to them with a scowl. The woman reloaded her gun with the remaining bullets on her person. "Touch him, and I'll blast you back from whence you came."

"I bambini, ho portato gli ospiti."

When the woman opened the door, out spilled five children. They, like the little girl, were covered in bandages. However, they weren't missing an eye like her. "Signora Alcina!" a little boy, no older than nine, called excitedly. "Signor Sud Italia mi ha insegnato a maledire in tedesco!"

Alcina groaned. "If he wasn't South Italy, I'd flay him too for teaching the kids all these foreign curses."

The three men weren't paying the least bit of attention to Alcina or the children anymore. The little girl from before sat next to the bed, where the smeared blood on the floor ended. Romano was covered up to his chin with a lovely quilt- one that looked to have been hand sowed by a kind grandmother like Alcina. His face was pale and covered in bandaids, eyes scrunched in fitful sleep. His hair was singed and caked with blood and ash, plastered to his forehead. Romano was feverish, his face red and breath coming in short gasps.

"Did you clean his wounds?" Canada worriedly chirped, turning back to the children and Alcina.

"No water," Alcina replied. "It was all I could do to use the last of ours to wash his face."

Canada gaped. "He's probably got the fever because there's dirt and stuff in him! You can't just bandage someone and expect them to get better! America, go back to camp and get a medical bag. Britain, go with him to call France and have him tell Spain we found him."

Alcina blocked the door, rifle poised and aimed. "None of you are leaving this room."

The angry Canadian jumped up to his feet. "I know you're protective of him and all, since he's your country. But if we don't clean him up, he's going to die of infection. North Italy will have to take care of you guys along with the mainland. If Romano dies on him, you're not going to have a very happy country anymore. I swear none of us will tell your location, and we won't bomb Sicily or attack anymore. We'll get the kids medical attention, and take care of you too. We'll get you back to your family."

"My family is dead," Alcina coldly spat. "Your troops killed my son in the first battle in Sicily, 1941. My husband died during the depression. Worked himself to death to keep my son and I fed. I don't even have my house anymore because of you. I have no reason whatsoever to trust you, and I'm not going to."

Canada was a silent a moment. Then he lunged forward, grabbed the gun, and pushed Alcina up against the wall. "Go, America!"

America nodded, running past them, Alcina's curses on his tail. He could still hear her yelling obscenities at Canada and Britain when he hit the dead-silent streets.

America hadn't even realized he was smiling until after he had grabbed a medical bag from camp and started running back to the dilapidated house. This was the kind of heroic deeds America had truly felt would win the war. Saving dying countries from the bad guys, and….

He slowed. Bad guys. Like him.

He had done this to Romano. He had… had bombed Sicily, killed all these people, taken that little girl's eye. If they didn't get her and the other children medical attention too, they'd likely join the others on the streets soon enough.

But most of all, America knew he had been right all along.

The truth about war is that everyone involved in one is a monster.

Every.

Single

Person.

((((()))))

"S-Spain!"

The country blinked, setting down the paper roses he had been busy making to look at Francisco Franco running full speed towards him. "Sí? What's wrong?"

"The Allies found Romano," he breathlessly said. "They found him. B-but, German troops. They're headed for Sicily, and we overheard them on the radio."

"What? That's good news! Germany's going to help-"

"Germany is going to bomb Sicily until nothing is left!"

The smile on Spain's face faded.

**Translations:**

**Sa un Canada?- Does he know a Canada?**

**E 'ancora incosciente. Io non voglio svegliarlo.- He's unconscious again. I don't want to wake him up.**

**I bambini, ho portato gli ospiti.- Children, I've brought guests.**

**Signora- Mrs.**

**Signor Sud Italia mi ha insegnato a male dire in tedesco!- Mr. South Italy taught me how to curse in German!**


End file.
